Back in the Dark Room
by xLazyxWriterx
Summary: Post-Episode 5. Sometimes, no matter what she did, the nightmare came crawling back. GrahamField


**Lazy Note: Hey there, Strangers. Here's a short, post-episode 5 GrahamField oneshot, as requested by an Anon on Tumblr. :)**

 **Enjoy!**

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 **Back in the Dark Room  
**

 **by**

 **xLazyxWriterx**

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It was as if someone had adjusted the colors of the world to fit the perfect vision of despair, as if it were as easy as batting an eye; bright colors became dull, washed out, faded... lifeless. Her eyes were weighed down by shadows, only to be pierced by a flash of light. As her eyes eyes fluttered open, her limbs flexed in shock. There was a liquid swimming in her veins, spreading throughout her entire body with a chilling sensation. Her unfocused eyes tried to follow the tube down her arm, but the concentration brought splotches of color to her vision.

When she tried to reach up to rub said splotches away, she found her hands bound to the arms of a wooden chair. Her attempts to break free of the binds are weak and in vain.

The clicks, the flashes were ringing in her ears, tightening around her eardrums. More specks of color flooded her vision, and for a moment, she thought she had gone blind. No matter where she looked, she found darkness dripping with contorted figures.

Her neck couldn't handle the weight placed upon it. She found her head falling and hitting the back of the chair. Her eyes drooped close, embracing the comfort of pure black. Her toes were becoming numb, ice seeming to spread up the back of her calf. Her cracked lips parted and moved in an attempt to speak, but her words were only drowned out by the flashes.

The pressure of a rubber-gloved finger on her chin helped tilt her forehead forward. When she opened her eyes, the darkness that had blinded her was gone. She could see.

It was the dark room.

Her vision focused. The familiar equipment and hanging photos churned the acid in her belly, bubbling up to her throat. Gaining her sense, her thoughts accelerated inside her head. Her mind pleaded with them to slow so she could breathe properly. They did not. Instead, they became rapid.

Short, silent gasps escape her. Her heart hammered in her chest as if it were trying to break through her chest to see the dark room itself. She could feel her ribs heaving as if bound by ropes, straining to inflate her lungs. Her head was a carousel of fears raging out of control, each one pushing her mind deeper into madness.

The dark room spun. She lowered her head, squeezing her eyes shut tightly and pleading for it all to stop, slow down. Her nausea was kicking in, pooling down in her core. The black her lids brought was disturbed by images, memories.

Dirt, rust, a split open trash bag, a hand reaching out, a blur of bright blue... dark red... cold, hard eyes... the night sky...

 _No..._

It was happening again.

Max struggled to break free of the chair, jerking and thrashing around the best she could. Her hands were not only tied, but her ankles were, as well. It was no use. She couldn't break free. Her head fell forward in defeat, but not before that familiar shade of blue caught her eyes.

She was too terrified to look up.

What did make her look up was another flash. When her eyes darted along the dark room, there was no photographer.

There was only Chloe laying limp on the white floor. Her vacant eyes were lidded, but the expression of terror still lingered in her features. Chunks of blue hair were matted to the side of her face while the rest lay around her head. Her beanie was gone. Her pale skin was tainted by the blood that slipped from the bullet hole in her head.

While the rest of her was cold, Max's eyes were burning.

But Chloe wasn't alone.

Max's watery gaze drifted up. When she tried to speak his name, her voice had no sound.

 _Nathan..._

He was on his knees beside Chloe, leaning back on his heels but hunched over pathetically. His hair appeared damp, becoming askew as though fingers had ruffled the dark blonde locks. His trembling hands rested on his crotch, arms covered in red. When she squinted and studied him, Max realized that he wasn't in his jacket. In fact... she could see his bare chest. His bruised, scratched, bloody chest. Crimson liquid dripped from his nose, dribbling over his mouth and down his chin, falling and staining his hands.

The sight of him brought a sensation of dread that boiled in her belly, as though a knife was thrust in her gut, and his glassy gaze only caused the knife to twist. He was staring past her, bloodshot gaze unfocused.

 _...Nathan?_

He couldn't hear her.

A dark figure approached him from behind.

Max's muscles were frozen in place but filled with such a tingling pressure the prodded the marrow of her bones. She watched as he visibly tensed, becoming rigid in his own anguish. He was no longer looking past her. When she met his stare, a wave of desolation washed over her. He didn't need to speak to tell her everything.

His head was nudged forward by the muzzle of the gun in the gloved hand. The figure towered over him, making him appear to small, fragile. He leaned back against the gun, eyes still holding her own. She screamed at him, but once again, her words had no voice.

 _Nathan!_

She knew he was scared; she could feel it.

She was paralyzed with her own fear as he closed his eyes, and smiled.

 _Nathan..._

The trigger was pulled. He jerked forward, body draping over Chloe and blood soaking his hair.

Hot tears were slipping down her cheeks. Max choked and gasped for air as her vision of the two bodies began to blur.

As did the figure as he approached her slowly.

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When Max's eyes shot open, she was left paralyzed. It was as if a hypodermic of distress had been emptied into her veins as she lay frozen in her bed. Her body vibrated in sync with her heartbeat, her muscles stiff and achy. She held her breath until her lungs became sore. She released the air quickly, scanning her surroundings from within the dark.

She was in her room, that much her brain had registered. It was still night, as she could see from the lack of sunshine from outside. She slowly, still unsure, sat herself up, pushing away the heavy blanket that covered her. Her heart was slowing to a calm pace as she sighed, covering her face in her hands.

She was okay...

She wasn't in the dark room. She was back in her dorm at Blackwell Academy. She wasn't tied up, and no one was taking photos of her.

Nathan...

Max bit her lip.

...He wasn't dead. No, no... he was getting... help. Yeah... Max wiped away the cold sweat from her forehead. No, Nathan Prescott wasn't dead. He was sent to an institute to finally get the help that he needed after he...

He...

Max stood from her bed to flick her lights on and began to pace around the room, as if she were checking every nook and cranny for any sign of company. She concluded that she was alone. _He_ wasn't there, and he wasn't going to hurt her or Nathan or anyone anymore.

He was rotting in a prison cell.

Max plucked her phone from her desk and opened up her contacts. Her thumb hovered for a moment, doubt filling her mind.

Hesitantly, she pressed the name and held the phone to her ear. After a few rings, a groggy, deep voice answered.

 _"Hello...?"_

"Warren," she said softly. "It's Max."

 _"Max, what's wrong?"_ he asked, seeming more awake at the sound of her voice.

She didn't answer right away.

 _"Max?"_

She sat down on her bed. "Can..." she sighed, "...can you come over?" she whispered.

 _"On my way,"_ he answered before hanging up. Max set the phone on her nightstand before reaching behind her to grab a pillow, hugging it to her chest.

She hated calling Warren so late at night; jeebus, it was almost four o'clock in the morning! Warren had told her that he didn't mind during the many other times she had called him after having that same nightmare...

It's been almost five months since her best friend Chloe Price was shot and killed in the bathrooms at the hand of Nathan Prescott, and five months since her favorite photography teacher was arrested for murder and kidnapping. And yet, even after this much time has passed, her nightmares still haunted her. She tried so hard to not think about it, to keep her mind away from the horrors that she witnessed in the dark room, away from what happened to her best friend and to a boy that had no control over his own mind. She tried not to think about the storm that almost destroyed her hometown, or the tragedies that she saw in the broken streets after escaping the dark room.

Sometimes, no matter what she did, the nightmare came crawling back.

There was a light knock on her door, so soft that she almost didn't hear it. Tossing the pillow aside, she hurried to the door, swinging it open. She was greeted with the sight of Warren in his blue sweats and white shirt, hair tousled and expression concerned. Without a word, Max threw herself at him, throwing her arms around his waist and burying her face into his chest.

His embrace was warm, and his arms seemed very protective when wrapped around her frail body. The world around her melted away as she squeezed him back, not wanting him to slip away.

The first time she had ever clung to him like this was back in some other timeline she created. It was in the Two Whales during the tornado, right after she told Warren about her powers. When he told her to be careful, she couldn't help but stare at him and realize just how much he truly meant to her. She needed a hug before she went back, and when he pulled her tightly to him, she had decided it wasn't enough. As good as it felt to be held by Warren, there was something else that she wanted before she went back.

The kiss was quick, but it fought away any despair she had left and replaced it with a warm tingle that she could only describe as hope. She already knew how he felt, and she wanted to show him how she felt, even if for a moment.

Warren doesn't remember any of it, though.

Of course not. She had changed the timeline. Their first kiss wasn't in the diner during the tornado, it was in her bedroom after the second time she had the nightmare...

Still holding her, Warren carefully moved them back into her room, quietly shutting the door. Warren rubbed her back, remaining silent. That was one thing she loved about Warren; he was patient with her, letting her move at her pace without any pressure. If she didn't want to talk, they didn't. If Max did, they would spent the next few hours talking about the nightmare and other various things. If she wanted him to leave, he would... but that rarely happened, if ever.

His hands moved to her shoulders, pulling her back to look at him. The loss of his warmth made her frown, but when he pressed the top of his forehead against hers and offered her a small, comforting smile, heat melted the ice within her veins. She ran her hands up his chest and around his neck, wanting to feel his skin. She could feel his pulse beating against the pad of her thumb, proof that he was actually here.

She glanced away from him, mumbling, "I'm sorry."

"Don't do that," he cupped her face with his palms, "you don't have to apologize to me."

"I just..." Max sighed.

"I know, Max," Warren pressed a quick kiss against her forehead.

"...Of course you do." She grabbed his hand, pulling it away from her face. She nervously glanced up at him before timidly asking, "Can you... uhm, stay? For the rest of the night?" She had asked him that question so many times by now, but it still made the butterflies that lived in her stomach awaken and flutter around.

He smiled down at her, dark eyes softening. "Of course."

With his hand in hers, Warren shut the light off before crawling on to the bed with Max. He pulled the blanket up to cover them both before Max scooted herself closer to him.

Warren's hand moved around to the middle of her back, warm and soft. In seconds her body is molded to his own, sharing his body heat as easily as he shared his heart with her. In the darkness, being this close felt like a little touch of heaven; warm, together, cozy. She was no longer afraid when he was there, and she wished she could extend the night just so she could stay close to him for longer, safe in his embrace. His arms wrapped around her brought a peace she hadn't known in a long time, a calming of the storms in her heart.

He pressed a long kiss against the top of her head and Max responded with kissing his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt. Fatigue was beginning to settle in her bones. Max found herself completely relaxed against Warren, and there was no fear crawling in her skin. All she could think to herself was thank God for Warren before drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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 **I bet Warren is a great cuddler.**

 **:)**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **xLazyxWriterx**


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